Cancer Dreams is the story, told by a pediatrician, of his wife's battle with breast cancer. Along the way, we meet children he has cared for with cancer, and their families who watched them suffer. We are also introduced to loved ones of the doctor and his wife who suffered the scourge of cancer. Ultimately, though, the book delivers the message that cancer need not be an ending, but a beginning, filled with new hopes and dreams. Several chapters in this book have either won prizes, or have been published independently. Jesse Miller had this to say about the first chapter, "Calling." He judged it a winner in a university competition: "I chose "Calling" because it's such a powerful story about love and sorrow. I was moved by the subject matter and the well-constructed scenes that vividly brought these situations to life." The second chapter, Champion, was published in 2009, in Chicken Soup for the Soul, The Cancer Book. The next to last chapter,"Recalling," won first place in a university competition. The judge, Richard McDonough, made the following comment about the story. "This works well because of the rhythms and sense of verisimilitude. It is easy to identify with ... substitute any health ptoblem and strong emotional/historical bond ... and most readers over thirty will find a connection. But that connection and a dime ... as was said in ancient times ... will get you a phone call. How you explore that connection with language is what "tells the story." This story got told right. Conversational; good. Imagining the worst ... baldness covered by a cap ... is perfect. The worst dreams come back to haunt you ... everyone has one in one part of life or another. So the verisimilitude is there. The sentences scan. There is no forcedness, no falseness. It works." '
Cancer Dreams
By Paul WinickAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Paul Winick MD
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4634-1842-7Chapter One
—Calling
It had only been a few days since we were told. Dotty hadn't slept, and had trouble keeping down the few morsels she had swallowed. We sat together in our bedroom where she was weeping. Over our bed hung an oil that she had painted of us looking longingly at "Moon River," named for our song. I placed my arm around her for comfort. Her once vibrant brown eyes were clouded, and her bobbed hair, which was usually impeccably coiffed, was disheveled.
I, for my part, like the typical male, tried to drive despair into hope by busying myself with details. I excused myself to go to the kitchen where my trembling hand picked up the phone to call the hospital, so I could confirm what time the next day the operation had been scheduled. Dotty was going to have the cursed "M" word, the mastectomy. My hand trembled as I picked up the phone to dial.
"Listen carefully," sang a melodious voice. "Our prompts have changed. If this is a physician, press one now.
"If you are calling in regard to our physician referral service, press two now."
The curly cord twisted into knots. Dotty knew how to keep it straight, knew how to keep our world in order. Not now.
"If you are calling about laboratory or X-ray results, press three now.
"If you are calling to speak to a person and know the extension, enter it now. If not, press four for the directory.
"If this call regards a billing question, press five now."
I gripped the phone, angry at the nonsense that was keeping me from Dotty's side.
"If you are inquiring about a scheduling question, press six now.
"To repeat the menu, press seven now.
"To speak to an operator, remain on the line or press zero."
My hand shook as I pressed 6. How frightened my wife must be. I was sad that we had to cancel our dream trip to Australia and New Zealand on Crystal Cruise Line. It had always been her desire to visit the lands down under, hear an opera at the Sydney Opera House, watch kangaroos and koalas frolic, and walk on a pristine blue glacier.
I missed most of the new prompts. Where was the human voice? Why did this have to take so long? Wiping sweat from my forehead, I pressed 4 to have the menu repeated.
"To schedule an appointment with one of our physicians, press one now.
"To schedule a laboratory or X-ray appointment, press two now.
"To confirm an existing appointment, press three now.
"To repeat these prompts, press four now.
"To speak to an operator, hold the line or press zero."
I just wanted to confirm what time the operation was scheduled for, what time we needed to be at the hospital. In all the confusion, I was not 100 percent sure. I heard Dotty sobbing. I called out, "I love you. Let me find out what time we need to be there tomorrow, and I'll be right back. Then I won't let you out of my arms the rest of the day."
I jabbed my middle finger into three. The once melodious voice sounded grating to me.
"To find out when your laboratory or X-ray appointment is scheduled, press one now.
"To find out when your doctor's visit is scheduled, press two now.
"To find out about a scheduled operation, press three now.
"To repeat these prompts, press four now.
"To speak to an operator, either hold the line or press zero."
Enough! I pressed O. A new singing voice said, "Please hold the line all the operators are busy. Someone will be with you shortly."
I bounced on the balls of my feet, then held the phone over the cradle to hang up. Enough was enough. But the information was too important so the phone remained pressed to my ear. They played Beethoven's "Ode To Joy," and I wondered what joy was left for us. I thought back on our life—the rainy night when we met.
I had called Dotty several months before, but as she was involved, we never dated. I decided to try again. "I'm glad you did. I'm no longer encumbered," she said.
Wow, she talks pretty. "Getting brung up in Brooklyn," I said, "I never loined such big woids."
Through the phone, I heard a chortle and could visualize a smile. "How would you like to take in a movie, this weekend?" I asked.
"I'd like that."
That Saturday, I had dinner at my father and stepmother's apartment in Manhattan. They were starting to pack in preparation for a move to Florida in a few months. I was borrowing my father's white DeSoto convertible, hoping it would impress Dotty.
We were on dessert, nibbling a cheesecake I had brought from Ebingers in Brooklyn. "Tell me about your date," my father said.
"Not much to tell. My roommate fixed me up. He says Dotty's bright and drop dead gorgeous. But we don't always have the same taste."
"Where did she go to school? What does she do?"
"She's a graduate of Cornell and is a high school English teacher, Pop. I haven't even taken her out once. Why the third degree?"
"Just making conversation. What's her last name?"
I smiled. "It's Isaacs, Pop. She's Jewish."
He looked at his Hamilton wrist watch and returned my smile. "You better hurry. You don't want to be late."
I realized that now that I was nearly finished with medical school, my father was ready for me to have a relationship—to bring home a nice Jewish girl. "I'm on my way," I said. "I'll bring the car back tomorrow before noon."
As I left the apartment house, wearing a crew neck sweater, a light drizzle dampened the sidewalk. Walking toward Lexington Avenue, I wondered if Dotty was as beautiful as my roommate had said.
Entering the car, I put the key in the ignition and turned. Nothing! No grinding, no churning, nothing. I pounded the wheel and tried again with the same result.
As I walked back to the apartment, the rain fell harder, forcing me to run. Standing in the lobby, waiting for the elevator, rain dripping from my hair, I tried to decide what I should do about my date. Without a car, I would have to take public transportation. That meant walking to 59th Street, taking the Lexington Avenue Line to 42nd Street, shuttling to Times Square, and then taking the IRT past Columbia University to the last stop at Van Cortland Park. It would take at least an hour and a half, and we would never make the movie on time.
As I entered the apartment, I had come to the conclusion that prudence dictated postponing the date for another time. I called Dotty, explained the situation, and rescheduled for two weeks later when I had my next weekend off without having to take call. She was disappointed, but said she understood my predicament. At least, I hoped she did. Was I acting like a spoiled brat and just being lazy at the thought of having to use public transportation? That wasn't the impression I wanted to leave with Dotty.
My father came out of the bedroom looking disheveled, his face flushed. I guessed he had plans for the evening that didn't include me being around. "What's happening?" he asked.
"The car won't start. It won't even turn over. I cancelled my date."
"That's too bad. I'm sorry about the car," my father said. "I'll get the AAA to come out in the morning."
I walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of milk. My father followed.
"What are you going to do tonight?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I guess I'll take the train back to...
